


Legacy

by Kateybug



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Courtly intrigue, Gen, Growing Up, Identity, Intrigue, Political Coup, Reincarnation, Sort Of, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateybug/pseuds/Kateybug
Summary: Traitor's granddaughter, the courtiers whisper around her.Namesake of the Traitor Queen from HyruleThe whole of the court of Sorrel, including her grandfather the king, would rather pretend Princess Zelda didn't exist. In fact, she rather would too, as just-plain-Zelda would be free to read old books, experiment with herbs and healing, and escape the heavy legacy of her traitorous, adulterous grandmother. When war and upheaval comes, it brings not just the opportunity but the necessity to escape her title. Zelda flees to the woods in winter, and finds she must rely on a woodsman and his nephew Link in order to survive. But she'll need much more than their help to take back her kingdom and her throne.
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Kudos: 8





	1. The Court

**Author's Note:**

> It's all so fascinating and terrible: the curse, the reincarnation, the endless cycle. I want to explore the idea of what it means to be an incarnation, an iteration of A Zelda, especially growing up with the legends and the legacy of the ones who came before. This chapter has mostly new characters, but I promise that you'll see some familiar figures soon :D

Nestled in the branches of her favorite tree, wrapped in her favorite blanket, taking bites of her favorite cheese between pages of--well, not her favorite book but one with fascinating uses for different shelf mushrooms--Zelda was perfectly content. She had slipped away from that afternoon’s duties without much difficulty to continue her research in the musty pages of half-rotting books. Yes, sometimes, it was good to be the granddaughter of the Traitor Queen. 

Often, even, for it meant that much of the court was given to overlook her, and for her part she was happy to be overlooked. Overlooked, she was free to study forgotten books about herbcraft and experiment with making poultices and ointments. Free of many of the formal receptions and ceremonies and rituals and balls, free to be the graceless bore she knew she was. It was awkward to be reminded of the traitor, and while Zelda could not help her name nor her flaxen hair, she understood why the eyes of courtiers, advisors, and stray peasants alike slid over her without really _seeing_. 

And so she was able to spend much of the day before tonight’s banquet reading in an apple tree in the Royal Orchards behind the castle. To her, at least, it was far preferable to anything to be done inside, though she knew her cousins Throm and Theana would disagree. But that was why they were inside, dealing with preparations, bustling about and directing and tittering, and why she was where she was, pretending not to hear Barrow the orchard-keeper calling for her. 

It took him little time to find her, but she couldn’t commit to being cross when he affectionately tugged on her dangling ankle and said, “Oh, I see my harvest now includes a princess! I think her royal personage would well spoil the cider that the rest of this tree’s fruit is destined to become!” 

Zelda smiled but groaned, hiding her face in her open book for a moment. _Just an hour, a minute more_ , she thought, but knew better. 

“Hello, Barrow. Who summons me?” A bit bumpily, she slid down the tree clutching her bundled blanket and books.

“Nella says His Highness said you’re to be at table at tonight’s banquet.” 

With a sigh and a last wistful look at her tree Zelda turned toward the castle. “Then I must go prepare. Thank you, Barrow.” 

The preparations for the banquet were very nearly done as Zelda passed through the reception hall on the way to her rooms. The steward gave her a perfunctory bow and a muttered “your majesty” as she passed, his attention rather focused on the final touches to the banqueting table. Zelda started a little as he bowed, as she always did when addressed with her proper title. Though she was, technically, still heir, the steward seemed the only one to ever properly acknowledge this. Everyone else, even her own nurse, even the king himself, acted as though her cousin Throm were the declared and anointed heir. It had always been so since before Zelda could remember, and in fact she was surprised to learn in one of her early lessons with her tutors that _she_ was, in fact, the royal heir. Well, the heir’s heir, at the time. She had assumed the tutor was second rate and a bit vague until her parents had confirmed it over supper that night in their chambers. 

“Yes, Zelda, you may well be queen one day,” her father said. He frowned a little and tossed a small bit off his plate into the hearth, and continued. “In this kingdom, women can inherit the throne, like in Hyrule, though oftener a male heir is chosen and declared. Your tutors have taught you about Hyrule and our other neighboring kingdoms, yes?” 

Zelda, taut in her chair, feeling both exposed and trapped by this horrible confirmation, this new place for herself in the world, was not able to answer right away. 

Her mother put down her fork and turned to her. “Zelda?”

She forced herself to answer, though the words came to her slowly. “Oh, no… that is, not yet, I think. We have learned all about the Old Kings of Sarrol, from the founding up to Herro the Hasty, and tomorrow I will be questioned on the motivations of King Daphnes for the War of the Walking Forests. I think,” she ventured cautiously, “Tarlenew and his under-tutors want to go through our history before starting on the history of other kingdoms.”

“Well, that’s foolish of him. I’ll speak to him tomorrow,” her father had said, and continued eating on, as if he did not just reveal information which shattered and shifted the whole of the world. 

Later, her mother came to her before sleep. She sat down on the edge of Zelda’s bed and brought with her a candle, though the fire was still banked low and there was, just barely, enough light to see by. She petted Zelda’s hair, and spoke warmly, but characteristically did not dance around the subject she wished to discuss. 

“Zelda, pet, did you believe Throm was heir?” Zelda could not bring herself to speak, to do much more than stare at the small flame of the small candle on the small table next to her bed. She nodded. “Oh, lamb. I see you are distressed, and I can guess at why. I believe you will have nothing to fear. Grandfather... well, the king, has always acted as if Throm were the heir, almost as soon as Throm was born. I believe once Throm is of age he will declare it so. The king has never even shown me, his own daughter, as much attention as he shows Throm, and he has…. you well know the reason why. All will be well, and you will not be thrust before the entire court’s prying eyes without cause or preparation. Rest, my lamb. All will be well.”

It was one of the last and warmest memories she had of her mother. Soon after, her parents were required to go on a great many more stately journeys for her grandfather, visiting foreign kingdoms and castles and being generally diplomatic on behalf of the king. Whenever her parents were home, it was always a whirlwind returning gifts from the kingdom they had just visited, hosting the dignitaries that had journeyed back with them, and preparing the gifts and plans for the next trip. It seemed that Zelda’s growing up, her needing tutors and an education, had reminded her grandfather of the existence and usefulness of her parents. And so her parents, like everyone else, came to have little time for her. 

It was on one of their gift-giving trips that they were taken from her. A troupe bandits wandering near the desert to the south had seen the travelling party, and their fine clothes and chests with promises of further finery, and decided to take all they could, including the lives of the party. Her parents, two other nobles, an advisor, and twelve servants were killed. 

The bandits had fled to the kingdom that was her parents’ destination. The King of the Gerudo himself came with the party that brought the offenders before her grandfather, along with the recovered treasures. The bandits were executed, the treasures given and returned, condolences were offered, and Zelda, bereft and ignored, quietly became the next in line for the throne. 

But it was Throm who sat beside her grandfather during the solemn proceedings, Throm who the people looked to now, and Throm who was treated as the presumptive heir. He was well suited for it, even Zelda thought so, and so his announcement as heir apparent was treated by all, even the king, as the last neat bit of work, so easy and so tidy that there is no need to rush to get it done. 

On her bed, when she returned from the orchard, was a lovely dove-gray chemise with wide draping sleeves, and a darker blue-gray fitted kirtle to wear over it. Her heart seized with gratitude at Nella’s perfect choice, and she surprised herself with the sudden mist in her eyes. The sleeves, and the flowing veil of the headdress on the table, would give the illusion grace where Zelda sorely lacked it, and the color of the gown would make it all the easier for Zelda to blend in to the walls and slip away from the painful notice of the court. 

It must be that she dreaded this banquet more than she realized, or that perhaps she missed having her parents to cling to and hide behind at such events. Her back turned to the door as Nella bustled in, Zelda was able to compose herself for her nursemaid and begin to dress. 

That she even had Nella still indicated how unnoticed she had gone. By all rights, the sole princess and heir to the throne of Sarrol at sixteen should have a small army of ladies-in-waiting and maids and servants throwing themselves in her way to advise her and needle her and curry favor with her. But she had good, faithful, grumbling Nella, and that bolstered her enough to have patience with Nella’s tugging and muttering as she prepared Zelda’s hair and headdress. 

The bolstering only lasted as long as Zelda was in her rooms. Gravely, she checked her appearance before she went down to be announced, and gravely and stiffly got through the announcement of her arrival, the opening of the banquet and her seating at the table a little ways away from the king. Throm was seated next to her grandfather, looking very inviting and princely. At his elbow, several courtiers laughed heartily and advisers looked on, nodding approvingly. Nearer Zelda, Theana enchanted the men and women around her. Though she was but two years older then Zelda, she had cultivated a worldly and mature air about her that drew people in and, Zelda thought, trapped them in her wake even as she made light of them. 

For now, though, it was good to be seated near her. It meant that Theana would carry the conversation around them. Zelda would not have to haltingly ask after so-and-so’s health, comment hollowly on the lavishness of the banquet, or answer disinterested questions from distant relations who could not afford to alienate members of the royal family, even ones disgraced and disgraceful as she. Theana even brought Zelda into the conversation occasionally, asking her opinion on this subject or that. Around them, the banqueters rumbled uneasily. There was news of unrest, even rumors of war, but Theana steadfastly refused to let the conversation near her turn serious. _This need only go on until the first dance_ , Zelda reminded herself. _Just last until the dancing_. 

It was between the last savory course and the first round of desserts that Theana’s coquettish impropriety reached new heights, even for her. “Oh, little cousin,” she asked simperingly, “how goes your research? I hear you’re reading about, what now, is it mold?” Theana’s laugh, even when cutting, was as light and clear as bells. Theana’s hairstyle and headdress, the new fashionable cauls nets that trapped her hair about her ears, were reminiscent of curled horns. 

Zelda’s hands stilled, and she did not look up from her plate. “Yes,” she said, as even and calm as she could. In her chest, her heart felt brittle, and the coldness of her tone caught the attention of a few courtiers around them. Perhaps they remembered then who it was they had sniggered at. Zelda imagined she was someone else, somewhere else; anyone, anywhere. “I am learning about several forgotten uses for shelf mushrooms that will advance the knowledge of our doctors and herbalists greatly.”

An earl near Theana seemed sympathetic to the princess. He said, “I’m sure the kingdom will be grateful for your discoveries.” 

“Yes,” Theana agreed with another giggle, daintily taking a piece of dried fruit. “It’s good that you have such a useful occpuation. My brother will surely find a suitable place for one such as yourself in his council.”

The hushing of the table around them was gradual, as the meaning of her words sunk in, but it spread like an infection. Theana’s expression turned to horror at her own carelessness. It felt to Zelda like the whole world was looking at her, waiting to see what she would do. 

She did not know what she would do. She did not know what she _could_ do. Though Throm’s ascendency was taken as a matter of course by all, Zelda was still the declared heir. Even though she was the last reminder of the queen who had betrayed them, the queen who had betrayed and conspired against the king with one of the king’s own knights, no one had ever, would ever dare say such a thing publicly. Openly questioning the inheritance of the heir, it bordered on treason. 

Zelda opened her mouth, though she had no idea what words she would say. She made no sound, and she tried again. “I…” 

Faces, so many faces, all looking at her, watching her, passing judgement over her!

“Please excuse me, I’m not feeling well.” Her voice was small and her words all ran together. She was sure she could barely even be heard at all over the terrible screech her chair made as it scraped the flagstones when she rose. 

As she turned and fled the hall, tears gathered in her eyes for the second time that day. For if there was ever a test of her place in the court, that was it. And as she fled, she knew she had failed. 

  
  
  



	2. The Story

She could not remember when she first heard the story. She had grown up knowing it, and when she was feeling particularly maudlin, thought to herself that perhaps she was born with the story in her just as she was born with the name and legacy on her--the mantle that she could not shake off. The story was this: 

The first Zelda, the Queen Zelda, came to them from Hyrule in the flower of her youth. She was said in Hyrule to be as wise and kind as she was beautiful, and so would have made for Hyrule an excellent queen, had it not been for the existence of an older brother. 

So she was married to the King of Sarrol, and the people were glad, for he was a young king, thrust too early into the trappings of the throne, with little experience and still less guidance for his youthful churlishness. The wedding was a very grand, very happy affair, and the castle was filled to bursting with knights and nobility, grand important personages from both Hyrule and Sarrol, as well as a few other neighboring nations. The queen, then a princess, was much beloved by her people, and many wanted to see for themselves that her happily married and settled before finally parting with her. 

(The way the story's next part was told always varied with the teller. Some, like Nella, grumbled with bitterness about the telltale signs of early treachery. Zelda had always suspected that Nella was chosen for her nursemaid equally for her warmth with children and her bitterness about the deception of the Traitor Queen. If the Queen Zelda was brought up, Nella would become upset past the point of reasoning. She would grumble, or viciously stab at her embroidery, or sweep crumbs off the table with a fury, or, on one uncharacteristic and memorable occasion, stepped on the train of the chatty countess who had commented offhand how like her grandmother Zelda was, so the countess fell awkwardly and made a spectacle of herself in the hall before Throm and the King. It was as if the Queen had betrayed Nell personally, not just the king and kingdom at large. Others--few others--like Shad, the head of the Royal Library, spoke of the Queen and the entourage she brought with her with something very like wistfulness.)

As it happened, some of the Hylians could not bear to part with Queen Zelda, and so stayed on as part of the household and court of Sarrol, giving up old titles and swearing fealty to their new monarch and land. Some were given smaller holdings or stray titles to tie them to the kingdom, and others were offered positions in the royal household. 

There were only a rare few of those transplants left, now. It was not a history easily borne, and the Hylians among them were understandably loath to remind anyone of their provenience. Zelda, who had known Shad her whole life, who had begged for stories on his knee--and received them--when he should have been copying a text, or cataloguing manuscripts, was shocked to learn only a year ago that he had numbered among those pilgrims. Shocked, and shamed, for it felt like something she should have known. It felt like something they shared, and in her ignorance, she had rejected.

(The next part of the story also varies with each telling. Some avert their eyes and say with carefully chosen words “The king withdrew from some trifling duties….” Others, usually foreign visitors whispering to other foregin visitors, who Zelda overheard in snatches, say that “The king was beginning to go mad, you see, and had this uncontrollable temper…” Still more insist that “The king was taken up by important affairs,” but most say something like this--) Together, the king and queen led their people into prosperity. The queen took on many duties, and her judiciousness and foresight became her renown. After a time the king became unwell, and his dutiful queen led many of his councils, received many audiences on his behalf, and in time, almost came to rule in his stead. 

Not even the birth of her daughter made the queen any less deeply enmeshed in the affairs of her kingdom. Indeed, it seemed that motherhood made the queen concentrate her efforts even further. After all, it was now her daughter who would inherit the kingdom in whatever state it was left in. And burdened as she was with responsibilities, the queen did dote on her daughter. 

She was helped by many, for all wanted to help her, and it was not just for the good of the kingdom that the people, now her people, had desired to take up the extra burden.There was something (and here all accounts agreed) indefinable about the queen that made one want to be around her, to be useful to her. To make her look on you with a smile. 

The Queen Zelda made those who felt her warmth and light believe that they could be better than they were. That they, as they were, were Whole and Worthwhile and Good, and the believing made one want to prove it with actions. 

The most embittered who told the tale (Nella, of course, among their numbers) said that this was the Queen’s witchcraft: a net of dark foreign magic from that barbaric land to ensnare the court while she gathered all the power of the king for herself--herself and that profane knight. (Zelda often suspected that these, the most embittered ones, who still spoke with fire in their voices of a deception revealed nearly two decades ago, were the ones who had been most enamored with the queen). Even the mild mannered tellers of the tale spoke of her using this charisma like a glamour to sweep attention away from what she wished to hide. Then there were ones like Shad, who simply told what was. 

And that was this: that the Queen had enlisted her own unofficial council to keep the kingdom in prosperity, and that near chief among this unofficial council was a knight who had come from the Queen’s own land. He was quiet and dutiful and after renouncing his identity as a Hylain and swearing fealty to the King and kingdom of Sarrol, had over the years proven himself worthy of the title of Captain of the Guard. 

This Captain was rarely named in the stories, and when he was, his name was spat out like a poison: Link. Over the years his presence beside the queen, or the king and queen together, grew more and more common. When the King was well (or when the king was amenable, as a few would say) the sight of him, the Queen, and their Captain was an inspiring reminder of all that was good and hopeful in their kingdom. The King: determined, steadfast, and (when he was able,) forceful. The Queen: just, wise, kind, and merciful (as well as beautiful, many would add). The Captain: brave, noble, chivalrous, and cause for a unique kind of optimism, for the Captain, with all his dignity and stateliness, began life as a low-born orphan. 

The discovery of this had caused quite a stir when it was out, for in Sarrol none of common birth can bear the title of knight. But Link had been knighted in Hyrule, the Queen’s country, queer place that it was, where even an orphan-child may rise up the the rank of knight if he risked enough. Here, the nobles of Sarrol insisted, there was nothing of that sort of unseemly attention-seeking. It was surely reckless and stupid, inspiring upstarts to go risking the stability of perfectly good farms and families by losing strong young men to heedless attempts at quests better taken up by their, well, their betters. 

But Link had been knighted in Hyrule, and had come with the Queen as knight, and he did, after all, act the part. And really, there was nothing that could be done, what with him being already appointed the Captain of the Guard and with the endorsement of King and Queen both. And so, some of the low-born of Sarrol learned to hope. 

Time went on and with each season it seemed Sarrol’s prosperity only increased. When the daughter of the King and Queen became of an age, she married the third son of a large kingdom, far larger than either Sarrol or Hyrule or indeed both together, and when it was announced that the Princess and her Prince were expecting, it was generally felt that the future was secure and bright and all that could be well, was well. 

The Princess birthed another little girl, beautiful and healthy and delightfully playful. For her golden hair, and for the hope that she might continue the legacy set forth by her grandmother the Queen, she was named Zelda.The Princess and her Prince, the King, Queen, and Captain, all doted on the newborn Zelda as much as the Princess herself had earlier been doted on by the Queen. 

And then, when the younger Zelda was but two months old, the treachery of the Queen was unraveled. 

It came out in a very narrow, painstaking way, in Royal Decrees that were somehow both increasingly vague and increasingly alarming. 

Announcements such as “Her Majesty the Queen will no longer be hearing petitions or holding an open court!” would be decreed, and days later the same town square would be subjected to: “Her Majesty the Queen will no longer be holding private audiences! All petitions must be put before the King and Queen jointly, else solely before His Majesty the King!”

There were more: “Lord Kreatas, Earl of Lyashold, will be replacing her Majesty the Queen as the head of the Witengamot Assembly!” and “Lord Zant, the Duke of Bergun and Eventide Hall, will be taking over the position of head of the Council of the Coin!” 

“Her Majesty the Queen has retired to her chambers for the foreseeable future and asks that she is not to be disturbed! All requests and reports are to be sent to the King or the appropriate Council!” 

Then, what damned her before her crimes were even revealed: “Sir Cletas of Limery is to be the new Captain of the Guard! Link, formerly knighted, has had all duties, titles, and privileges revoked!!” 

The rumors were, of course, a spreading corruption more twisted than what could ever be true. The people guessed not just at the Queen’s deception, but at adultery, blackmail, murder, torture, heinous rituals involving the blood of chickens or virgins or frogs, or all three. This is when whispers of witchcraft began, and the wickedness of these rumors seemed to be in direct proportion to the Queen’s apparent goodness. No Queen, no woman, and certainly no foreigner, could have been as good and as just as she pretended to be; and so the rumors were both a confirmation of fears and suspicions so foul and deeply hidden that they had never been spoken, and a perversely comforting signal to return to the ways Sarrol had always known. 

Pretender Queen, they called her now. Deceiver Queen,Traitor Queen. All the kingdom’s prosperity, cultivated over long years of scheming, seemed to have always meant to be snatched away from the King and good people of Sarrol. It would have been for nothing. It would have been delivered into the hands of those who would wish to reap and hoard the rewards of the kingdom’s prosperity while letting the people of Sarrol sink into poverty and squalor. It was the ultimate treachery, and had it not been for their king’s keen discovery, they would have lost everything--so it was said. 

Here, all the tales diverged, for none could divine the Traitor Queen’s impenetrable motives. The Queen was already Queen, and her daughter would surely inherit; there was no one else suitable. What need for scheming? 

Some tales were told such that she simply did not want to share the throne with her husband, and coveted the power for herself alone. Some believed she had always planned to overthrow the king, since before their marriage, and turn Sorrel into nothing but a fiefdom of Hyrule. A few theories told that it was the Queen who was mad, and the King spent all of his time trying to control and influence her such that the kingdom would not be brought to ruin by the woman he married. 

And of course, a small number of romantics said that she was simply in love with her knight, Link of Nowhere, and that her deception was one born of a heart smothered by insurmountable obstacles to her love. (The romantics were invariably dismissed outright, and their naive theories the subject or much ridicule). 

Whatever her motives, it was widely agreed upon that the Queen must now be dealt with. But how? For the king, incomprehensibly, would not act. 

There was no investigation or inquiry announced, nor public denouncement of the Queen’s treason, nor indeed even an annulment of the marriage. The Queen remained confined to her rooms, the official word remained that she merely needed rest, and Link was neither seen nor heard from for some weeks, until he was quietly and summarily executed on charges of high treason. 

There had been no trial.


	3. The Councils

Absorbed in her work, Zelda ignored the growing ink stains on her hands, the murmur and laughter of the party still audible into the small hours of the morning, and the knocking on her door.

“Fungi really are so much more versatile…” she spoke aloud to herself. The knocking, now, was louder and more insistent. “There are many more types of mushrooms than there are herbs, and it seems that each kind has multiple uses, depending on its preparation…” she trailed off again, and steadfastly ignoring Nella’s plaintive “Your Majesty! Please, for goodness’ sake, let me at least get my sewing kit!” licked the tip of her pen and attempted for the fourth time to copy the shape and shading of the Woodsman’s Cuckoo into her commonplace book, which would later be transferred into a personal book of organized, catalogued, and compiled notes from several reference points.

“Zelda!”

The princess sighed, held her face in her hands for just a moment, and opened the door before Nella could begin another barrage. Eyes half lidded, hands clasped before her, in the most composed and stately tone she could muster, she asked, “Nella, how am I to complete my notes with such disturbances as these?”

Nella nearly fell into the room and looked at Zelda, open-mouthed. She sputtered for a moment, overwhelmed and outraged, then tore in. “Unbelievable…” she muttered, thumbing at the hems of Zelda’s sleeves “...totally ruined.” She spun Zelda around as the princess tried to maintain dignity, and she herself walked around the princess in the other direction, continuing: “...any way to act…” and “complete--”

She cut herself off, but _disgrace_ had already filled the air of the room. Zelda stood still as a statue, for the first time all day seeming to be worthy of her rank and title. Nella moved backwards and sank into a large chair, the one from which she had told Zelda countless romantic tales of knights and dragons and fairies from before the princess could even remember.

“Well,” she said, “I heard about your cousin.”

“Has he finally announced it, then? I imagine there’s much rejoicing.” Zelda moved back to the desk and closed her eyes and her book. She would have to finish the notes tomorrow, or the day after. There would be ceremonies and feasts, and on such short notice she would have to help.

“Announced…? No, heavens! I mean…” ridiculously, Nella looked round, as if the cousin in question might be lurking under a desk or in a chimney. “... _Theana_ ,” she finally mouthed.

_Oh._

This was, somehow, worse.

Zelda supposed that was because if Throm-- _when_ Throm--was finally announced heir, she would be done. She could stop pretending to be worthy of this ridiculous title that no one wanted her to have, stop chafing at expectations she could never fulfill, stop disappointing people, and move on to--she forced herself to stop. The battle between her desire and her responsibility was a familiar and unending one. She would use sheer force of will, each time if she had to, to fix her mind on her duty and forget everything else. It was simply what was necessary. It had nothing to do with any uncomfortable, squirming feeling she got in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought of words like _after_ and _freedom_.

If her grandfather died tonight-- _Goddess keep him_ , she thought--she would be Queen, and though the weight of the crown would be terrible, she would bear it for her people and the kingdom. She would probably have to marry Throm, as it would mollify his faction and be a good way to bolster confidence in the throne with a sense of legitimacy, of stability. She would have to appear publicly almost daily, if not multiple times a day, wearing the heavy crown and great, glittering dresses that were too valuable and delicate to move freely in. She would not be able to move freely at all, dresses or no; she would have to project, each moment of each day, the serene and dignified countenance of a respected and respectable ruler. In truth, though she would have power, she would never have freedom of any kind, ever again.

Painful as the thought may be, she had not, and would not ever allow herself to shirk the responsibility that was what it meant to be heir, even in the privacy of her own mind.

She turned to Nella. “Whatever it is they’re saying happened, it’s not as bad as that,” she attempted to sound aloof, but it came out a little too pleading. _So much for royal dignity_ , she thought. It, of course, did no good whatsoever on Nella.

“So she didn’t casually mention something about her brother finding you, heir to the throne, a place in court after he, still just Duke, became king?” Zelda blinked. Usually the gossip was as extravagant as the banquets.

“No,” she signed, “that was what happened.”

Nella held out her arms, and when she did, there was and there was naught that anyone, peasant, princess, or king, could do but kneel before the nursemaid and submit to being cradled against her chest. Once, it might have comforted Zelda, but now, it just made the squirming uncomfortable feeling come back. She let herself be held though, for Nella’s sake. It brought the old woman comfort to be comforting.

After a time, Nella released her and hastily tried to wipe away her own tears. Zelda, surprised, offered her a handkerchief which the nursemaid waved away. She pulled out her own, un-ink-stained one.

“Oh, poor child, you are certainly ill-used. They don’t know what they have in you and they don’t half deserve you. You do try so hard, poor thing, and it’s not as though you can help being clumsy or awkward, being shut away and forgotten all your life. And you can’t help but remind us of that-- that-- _her_. But you do so try to be good, and if you’d had any other legacy, I daresay you’d be much more… oh…”

The sting of Nella’s bluntness was softened by her uncharacteristic display of fondness. As she continued to cry, Zelda patted Nella’s shoulder at an arm’s length. She looked down at the woman crumpled in the chair and suddenly realized how _old_ she was. Zelda felt ancient herself, as though this morning’s mischief hiding in the orchard were a lifetime ago. She sat next to Nella’s chair and allowed her hand to be clutched for several more minutes as her nursemaid collected herself.

“Nella, suppose I were to be queen. Do you think it would be calamitous?”

“Well, it’s as I’ve said. If you’d have had another legacy to carry, I can guess that you’d carry on rather well. You’re so studious and even tempered. But things being as they are now… It would be right hard. You’d be questioned at every turn. And you’re so _sensitive_ ….”

Zelda sighed again, leaned her head back against the wall, and looked out her narrow window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stars.

The next morning, she did not go to breakfast. She did not bring her books to the orchard, nor did she stay in her rooms. She visited the library for only a short while, and ignored the pitying look Shad gave her before fetching the records she asked for as well as his unasked for advice when he brought them back (“Zelda, you must know that _knowing_ everything won’t solve the problem….”) and tucked herself away in the most unlikely place she could think of: one of the smaller chambers where the kings’ many councils met. Secure in her new hideaway, she asked a terrified new footman to have some bread and cheese sent to her, and got to work. 

If the king wouldn’t get to the business of declaring Throm heir, she would at least be ready should the worst happen. And when (if?) Throm were declared heir, she would be prepared to make herself useful to him and the kingdom.

She managed to avoid almost everyone in this way for three days. It wasn’t people themselves she aimed to avoid, so much as their scrutiny, their pity, or, worst of all, their indifference. Scorn, she was used to by now, but pity left her with that squirming stomach feeling, and indifference--being dismissed as though she were nothing at all, and never was and never would be--she doubted she would ever grow hard enough to not be cut by indifference.

Hours later, she was well into the council records on agricultural feifs, taxes, and harvest amounts for the last twenty or so years. She felt pretty near a working understanding of the relationship between that history and the amount of gold left in the king’s coffers at the end of each year when the chamber door opened and several lords and knights spilled into the room, talking amongst themselves, followed by the king. 

Their talk died down as they noticed her scrambling to gather the old records, quills, ink, and parchment. The king looked at her with an unreadable expression and she stood, arms full, waiting for judgement. In this moment of silence, unable to meet her grandfather’s eyes, Zelda realized that the Captain of the guard, Cletas, wasn’t just at the king’s elbow, but was physically supporting him. He leaned in to the king to say something too quiet for anyone else to hear, and, the king looked at him a moment before announcing, “The Princess may stay.” 

The men arranged themselves around the table as Sir Cletas deposited the king at its head. Zelda stayed anchored as close to the wall as she could, still clutching at the mess of records, notes, and quills, until everyone was seated but her. Cletas stood again, to pull out a chair for her at the far end of the table. Scrambling now to sit down again, she felt every eye on her as her chair scraped the floor and the parchments in her arms crinkled loudly at being set down again. 

“Perhaps the princess,” one lord--Dorimer, Zelda thought--said nasally, “can keep the records for today’s meeting, as she is already, ah, so equipped.”

All heads turned toward her and it was a moment before Zelda realized they expected her to _speak_. “Oh, ah, yes? Certainly...”

“Very good,” said Cletas, as though Dorimer had meant the suggestion earnestly. Zelda flashed him a meek but grateful look, which he seemed to ignore. “Thus commences the meeting of the Council on Foregin Affairs…”

The sound of Zelda’s quill scratching quietly was a chorus throughout the whole of the meeting. At its end, as the council filed out, Cletas nodded at her as he left the chamber at the king’s elbow.

-

There were more accidental council and committee meetings for Zelda as the days passed by and turned into weeks. Each council had different members, by the end of the second week there were no more surprised faces when the chamber door would open onto a scene of piled records, blotted ink stains, and haphazard sheets of parchment strewn about the table.

Many of the lords, ministers, and appointees treated her much like Lord Dorimer had at the first meeting, and continued to, for it seemed he would never warm to her. But some did greet her, or nod politely to her when they passed her in the castle halls, or wait to begin meetings until she had organized her work and found a clean sheet of parchment. These gestures, however small, buoyed her spirits higher than she could ever remember them being.

Once, a messenger was sent for her when the Council of Foreign Affairs met in a different chamber. Walking into the room, crowded with additional lords, ministers, ecclesiastics, and guards, after being announced with her full title by the footman sent for her, made her feel bigger in spirit than her body could contain. She was nearly shaking, more from an excess of energy than from nerves. Her handwriting during that meeting was messier than usual, and she may have missed information in her notes about the details leading the king’s men to suspect the foreign spies, but she grew more focused as she listened to the guards brought to testify, and the heated debate that followed. By the end of the meeting, her notes were impeccable, and when she was thanked by one of the Holy Priests who had come to bless the council meeting, it took all of her self control and sense not to grin back--completely inappropriate, given the nature of the meeting.

But it was just so _nice_ to be thanked. Especially since this priest was not,  as she suspected some of the other kinder councilors to be, within Sir Cletas’s circle of influence. She could not fathom why he seemed to have taken a liking to her, but she appreciated it all the same.

Zelda avoided seeing Theana again, too. Her new occupation helped her to this end more than she could have hoped for: she had little enough time, running between meetings and the library and her rooms. Now, she spent time alone out of necessity rather than apprehension and timidity. She felt she was discovering something vital about the kingdom, piecing together its workings by comparing the past records with the present issues discussed in the council meetings, and to do that, she needed to be able to read and reread records and her council notes without interruption.

-

“I feel as though I may have finally found my place, Nella,” Zelda said over her bread one morning. “I feel… useful! And I’m learning so much at each meeting!”

Nella darned a pair of stockings doubtfully. “In my experience, princess, places are _won_ , not found or given. And you can’t go on ignoring what Theana said to you for much longer, either. Something has got to be done about that, even if Throm is to inherit.”

“I can’t understand why that’s still bothering you, Nella. She only said what everyone else has always thought.” Zelda stood and gathered her ink and parchment for another day of notes and council meetings. Nella stopped her with a hand on her arm before she could leave.

“It isn’t right, princess. Everyone has their place, and hers is hers and yours is yours, until it’s declared otherwise. Why, I’m surprised that the king or a council….” Nella trailed off, looking troubled at her own train of thought. Zelda took the rare moment of speechlessness to squeeze her hand before running off.

“Don’t forget to order more ink for me please!” she called, dashing off.


End file.
